


Sweet Tooth

by TrickyNicky (UrPalSoup)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Aliens, Fear, Gen, Memory Loss, Outer Space, Repression, Running Away, Supernatural Elements, most of this is figurative btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:40:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26332810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UrPalSoup/pseuds/TrickyNicky
Summary: I hold hands with cosmic entitiesI'll take this tube ride if I pleaseI got this sweet tooth, babyYeah, I got this sweet tooth, baby





	Sweet Tooth

**Author's Note:**

> This is about Tyler, an OC of mine from a series that I should _really_ start working on again, but haven't! He's my favorite of the main cast, and he's a fucking dumbass. He's also really sad, though.

Anyone who has ever held his hand has had no idea what he's capable of. They could never be--it's not as if he appears to be anything but human, after all. Sure, he may have some odd powers, but for the most part, they chalk it up to him using spells, or figure he just carries charms on him that let him float and speak every tongue. They don't see the way he can snap his fingers and change the color of his hair just like that, believe he wears colored contacts when, just like his hair, he can change his eye color on a whim, nor do they know that he never really sleeps. He's never actually needed to. No, for the most part, the universe sees him as a human that lost his way, went insane, or just has short-term memory loss.

The issue with that is that while he may be partially human, he is far from mortal. He isn't made of flesh and bone, not really. X-rays may seem to prove otherwise, but appearances can be deceiving. If you asked him, however, he'd have no answer--he's never met another of his kind. Or, at least, if he has, he has no recollection of the event. He never seems to remember much of anything these days, but when did he ever really remember things? He isn't sure. No one is. He doesn't remember places, faces, or names, he recognizes patterns.

If you asked him where he came from, he'd tell you that he isn't sure, because the last time he ever remembers a pattern that reminded him of home in any capacity would've been years and years ago, when he was young and more naïve than he is now. If you wondered if he even knows how many places he's been to, he'd be able to tell you the exact number, because the way he travels is just another pattern. It always seems to happen around the same timespan, though never to the same place--not that he'd be able to recall, anyways. He has no idea who his parents are, if they're alive, where they might be.

Not as in he never met them, more so that he just cannot remember for the life of him. And maybe he yearns to remember, to know something from the past, but he figures that the past is trivial. The present is more important to him. The future and past are unknowns to him, things he cannot comprehend, though perhaps he could, once, when he was young. All he knows now is forward, always forward, nothing else. There is a strange pattern that makes him feel hollow, distant, _cold_. He's scared of it.

He doesn't know where it came from, why it's there, but it's always with him. A never ending heartache, a rotten tooth that he can't get fixed, a bitter sweetness that's missing a majority of the sweet. It's a field, going on and on into the horizon, forever and ever. High above it is where he's perched, leaning against iron bars, the wind whistling softly. Everything is bright and lively and warm, and yet all he feels is a sense of dread, something frigid deep within his bones. He doesn't know what to do with the feeling. Isn't sure if he's supposed to be remembering something. Always uncertain. He tries not to think about it by sucking on candies, making everything sugary sweet to hide the sour.

And maybe it's better that way, with him not knowing what that place means, what happened there. His friends, his family, his life before he forgot it all. He really only knows his name, and only the first, not the middle or last. But he also knows that there are stars lying beneath his skin, the inky blackness of space threatening to spill out from under the bland color that hides it, that there's a distant, roaring void hidden somewhere amidst the candies, the parties, the forgotten places, faces, and names, and the recognized patterns. That doesn't mean he has to think about those things, however, when he could be thinking about which candy to be addicted to for the next week or so.


End file.
